


Golden Petal Profile

by FriedCatfish



Category: Deadly Premonition | Red Seeds Profile, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Pacifist Route, probably some minor canon divergence?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-04 15:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5339849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriedCatfish/pseuds/FriedCatfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>October 3rd, 21XX. "Home Three," the monster quarter of Ebott's Valley.</p><p>Shortly after daybreak, a mister "Hots Flaming" discovered a human passed out on the curb in front of his condo building. He was soon found to have a broken wrist, as well as several lacerations and stab wounds. Seventeen similar incidents had occurred over the past four months. Until this point, the problem had been left up to local law enforcement; however, with the attacks steadily becoming more and more brutal, and the looming threat that they might escalate to full-on manslaughter, the Federal Bureau of Investigation sends an agent to assist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beasts of Hollow Mountain (Have Since Emigrated, and Are Quite Pleasant for the Most Part)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be dropping some references to the plot (and in particular the ending) of DP without warning, so you might not want to read this if you're not familiar with the game already? (Though I'm not entirely sure why you would to begin with...) Watch supergreatfriend's Let's Play of it, it's very comprehensive and entertaining... though you'd have to look up the Director's Cut cutscenes separately, since his run was the original version.
> 
> Obviously there's going to be some Undertale spoilers as well.
> 
> Timeline might be a little wonky, given the time frame that Deadly Premonition presumably takes place. Don't worry about it too much.

If you asked Francis Zachary Morgan if he thought there was any merit in dream interpretation, he would give you one of three possible answers.

The first was the one he gave to people he suspected wanted to paint him as a crackpot, or who didn't actually seem all that interested: "It's not relevant to my line of work, so I haven't really thought about it in years." After all, he would explain, he had never exactly been the type to operate undercover (besides, how could you, with a face like that?), and it wasn't like any perps would be  **honest**  about their dreams when talking to a federal agent. There were better methods.

The second was the one he gave to just about anyone else, provided they actually seemed interested and knowledgeable. "It's  _possible_ you could get something from analyzing your dreams, but nothing you couldn't get more easily and with less margin of error from other sources." Chances are, dreams weren't going to have some deep, hidden meaning about the person's wants or fears or personality; hell, you could just  **ask** them and those who know them to find most of that out. Looking at dreams just added a layer of ambiguity, and Zach had to draw too many conclusions from thin evidence and conjecture as is.

The real advantage of dream interpretation, he said, was telling you what you already knew. "Like tarot cards, or -- that thing programmers do, when they talk to a toy or something about a bug they've run into, you know?" It let you work out your feelings the same way a psychotherapist might. Again, not useful for his line of work.

The last answer, he had only ever told his romantic partners, his firstborn daughter, and those co-workers he had a particularly high degree of respect for.

"I don't put much stock in **other** people's dreams, but I think I have a good deal to learn from my own. For example..." **  
**

* * *

_Black void. Spotlight in the middle. Walled in by thorns and flowers, flowers like inverted daisies, white center and yellow petals, thick and buttery like... butter. Maybe margarine._

Zach hadn't dreamed much -- or hadn't remembered his dreams, if you preferred, but that was getting into semantics -- when he was still a child.

After the first time York fronted, though, he remembered every last one, clear as crystal, and dutifully cataloged them in a journal. Most of them were more or less fully lucid (though no matter how much he tried, he could never seem to bring York into the picture these days), but often, right before he started a case, he'd get one like this: he'd know he was dreaming, but couldn't change anything about himself or the world around him.

It always looked similar to this, too, but never quite the same. He'd been through several different clearings in the Red Forest; twice, once in Florida and once, bizarrely enough, in Arizona, he'd found himself in a swamp; out in the midwest it was usually a circle in the middle of a cornfield or a prairie, and a few times near the Canadian border he'd ended up in the taiga or on an ice floe.

None of them had been like this, though; none of them had had a floor of solid stone, and the air had never been so stale.

_Twins - triplets? - twins and... **something,** indistinct, sitting in a bed of those same flowers. I felt certain they were speaking to each other, but neither their lips nor their hands were moving, and I couldn't hear a word._

Greenvale was the first time he'd ever encountered twins on a case, but ever since then, they'd been popping up like mushrooms. It stung, at first, given what he'd lost -- what he'd forgotten he **had** until it was already gone -- but what could you do? Nowadays, it was just one of those strange coincidences that he'd learned to live with.

He took stock of the rest of the room, looking for scattered furniture and mementos. This was the meat of things - the kids and the flowers were a sideshow.

_A twin-sized bed, covered in dust; a box containing toys and costumes and art supplies, as well as a very real gun and a very real knife; drawings in crayon and marker of gigantic humans stomping on and eating monsters; a mirror, which showed my reflection, yet somehow I was **certain** that if I looked at it from the right angle it would show York._

_A few packets of seeds - not those ones. A can of hot chocolate mix. Cloth mannequin with several torn seams, right eye hanging by a thread._

The dummy was the last thing that grabbed his attention. As soon as he'd made a note to remember it, the twins turned to face him. The lighter-skinned one smiled at him, waved, cupped a hand to their ear.

* You ought to get going, Zach.

* * *

His back ached like hell, in part because he was getting on in the years -- god, he'd have to retire in just a decade or two, wouldn't he? -- and in part because he'd chosen to sleep in his car in lieu of checking into a motel. It let him watch the stars through the sunroof, and he could stand to save the money; York had left his body a little more accustomed to cigarettes and snacks than he would have liked, and the car was going to need a tune-up soon... hell, maybe it was even time to buy a new one. Or at least a used one that wasn't twelve years old.

Zach slammed the car door behind him, did his best to stretch and straighten himself out, then whipped out his cell phone. Still fifteen minutes until ten, and it seemed rude to barge in on anyone this early in the morning. For now, might as well walk around the neighborhood and take in the sights; you didn't exactly see a place like this every day. He shoved the phone back in his jacket pocket, and considered grabbing a smoke, but thought better of it -- might be laws against doing it in public, and he could stand to grab breakfast.

For the most part, Ebott's Valley wasn't a particularly exciting city. Bit of forest on the periphery, a couple of beaches, handful of skyscrapers, the occasional public park; nothing Zach hadn't seen dozens of times before. If he stuck around, he knew he would get a feel for the local flavor, but the old town was never his destination.

It was when he'd hit the monster quarter -- when the green "First Street" signs were paired with brown "Asriel Mem. Blvd." ones, when the asphalt was replaced with concrete and the concrete was replaced with cobblestones, when about one in five people he drove past was human (and about one in ten of  _those_ wasn't wearing a Mettaton hat and toting around a backpack full of knickknacks) -- that he started paying attention. The architecture, for one thing, was  _stunning;_ a substantial chunk of it seemed straight out of ancient Egypt or Rome, or Mayan Mexico, all intricately-carved stone and marble. Yet not a block away, you might also see a charming wooden cabin, or a sleek and white and twisty art gallery, or some kind of retro-futuristic... nightclub? Research facility? It was anyone's guess.

Zach caught the scent of sizzling burgers and bacon, and glanced over towards... well, the general feel of it (dark hardwood walls, warm and dim lighting, neon beer-logo signs on the windows) suggested a tavern, but looking more closely, he saw things that suggested it was more of a diner: Wurlitzer jukebox in the corner, checkered tile flooring, and quite a few patrons who he was  **pretty** sure were children, but maybe some fully-grown monsters were just that small. He looked up at the sign hanging over the door -- "Grillby's" -- nodded, and headed on in.

He settled on a seat near the edge of the counter, a bit of space on each side -- he could use the room to think. The waiter (bartender?), a man made of fire, sidled up and leaned over, crackling softly, but saying nothing.

Zach hastily skimmed the menu. "Uh... how about the pecan waffles and a cup of coffee?" The man nodded, and Zach picked up a cup of creamer from a nearby rack, turning it over in his hands.

"hey there, buddy."

Zach whipped his head around; sitting right next to him was a grinning skeleton a little over half his size. He was  **certain** there was no one sitting there when he came in, and normally he noticed when people snuck up on him. Especially when every move they made was accompanied by a quiet clacking and clattering.

"what's the matter? you look like you've seen a ghost." The monster winked. "which is ridiculous, 'cause i'm clearly a skeleton."

Zach coughed and, for just a moment, looked away. "Sorry, you just... surprised me."

"yeah, i can tell. practically jumped out of your skin. trust me, i know what that's like." He extended his hand. "name's sans. sans the skeleton."

Zach raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bony palm in front of him. _Whoopie cushion? Unorthodox. You'd expect a joy buzzer._ "Hm. More like sans everything  _but_ the skeleton, I'd think."

Sans's expression went blank. Then, in an instant, he burst out laughing and slapped his hand to his knee; the muffled fart noise that resulted only made him laugh harder. Zach glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, all eyes in the establishment were on them now.  _Wonderful._

No sooner had Sans calmed down and wiped his eyes than he had hopped down from his stool. "you might not believe me, but that's the first time i've heard that one. gotta admit, morgan, i was worried for a sec, but you're alright." He stretched, his joints loudly popping and cracking. "i should get goin', though. see you around, yeah?"

"Didn't you... just now get here?"

"yeah, well, you know how it is. busy bee gets the honeys. oh, that reminds me, though." Standing on his tiptoes, he promptly swiped all the jelly from the nearest condiment caddy, stuffing all of them into his jacket, save for one; that one he immediately tore open and squeezed, shooting a red glob up into the air and catching it in his mouth on the way down. "somethin' for the road. good luck on the investigation, pal." He slapped Zach on the back, and in the literal blink of an eye, he was gone.

Zach shrugged. All things considered, this wasn't the strangest person he'd ever dealt with. Hell, probably didn't even make the top twenty.

...Although, come to think of it, how did Sans know his name or why he was here? The case couldn't have been  **that** public.

At some point, without Zach noticing, his coffee had arrived. He opened up his packet of creamer and poured it in, staring intently at the way it swirled around the coffee, looking for any sort of patterns or iconography that might help him out. Eventually, something seemed to emerge - two ovals and a curve, with thin trails of cream connecting them. 

"...A smiley face?"

He shook his head and raised the mug to his lips.  _Just pareidolia,_ he told himself. He'd managed to fill York's shoes as best he could, but no matter how hard he tried, Zach had never quite gotten a solid lead or prediction from the coffee trick.  _Besides, even if it did have any meaning... what am I going to get out of something that vague?_

Damn good coffee, though, so he could hardly complain. He had a feeling Home Three wouldn't be half bad.


	2. The Beast With a Million Pies (Or, at Least, the Capacity to Make Them)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE TOOK FOREVER I'M SORRY... I'm not always the best @ time management when it comes to personal projects.

After stopping at the bakery a few doors down to grab something to share with the Queen and the ambassador -- he wasn't sure about donuts that contained whatever "spider juice" was, but he'd tried a scorpion lollipop once and that hadn't been half bad, so he was at least willing to give it a go -- Zach made a beeline for their house. From his inside jacket pocket, he withdrew a small leather-bound notebook, awkwardly flipping to the most recent page with the hand still tightly clutching a paper sack.

Not much there at the moment; just an extremely brief summary of the case (the file on the most recent event was in a manila folder shoved inside his glovebox; no sense copying it down when it was nothing  **but** details) and some notes on the local officials he needed to contact. He slid into his sedan, tossed the donuts into the passenger seat, and carefully propped the notebook up on the corner of the dashboard so he could steal glances at it at stoplights. The gist of it was:

  * Toriel ~~Dreemurr~~ ENRUTERU \- Queen of the Monsters (largely ceremonial, some quasi-mayoral duties), teacher + principal @ NHPS (K-12). Adoptive mother of Frisk, 100+ yrs. Pers. prof.: Gregarious + polite, intimidating when provoked, renowned for intelligence; conscientious, poss. neurotic/anxious tendencies, strong convictions/stubborn; fav. foods pastry, snails. Addr. 158 Papyrus-Is-Super-Cool Ave. **  
**
  * Frisk (Enruteru?) - Princex (unofficial) + Ambassador. Approx. 13 yrs, 9th grader NHPS. Pers prof.: Pacifistic + forgiving to a fault, v. extraverted + open to experience, poss. history of depression/suic. ideation? -



His train of thought was briefly derailed by a honk -- honestly, people could be **so rude** when you didn't  **instantly** hit the gas at a green light -- but even once he got back on track, Zach had... a bit of a difficult time processing his notes. He squinted at the page, momentarily convinced that he must have made a mistake at some point, but he had to admit it was difficult to think of how you could mistakenly write down "notorious flirt."  _Hm._ _They've barely hit puberty, was that really something a lot of people saw fit to mention?_ Then again, he vaguely remembered this being based on anecdotes about their time underground; hopefully they'd mellowed out a bit since then.

_Eh, worst case scenario, I'll say I'm married. And don't worry, York, I haven't forgotten that you're taken, too._

The only other thing in Frisk's entry was their favorite food ("basically anything"); no address listed, since they lived with their mother. Other than that, there was only one more entry on the page:

  * Asgore Dreemurr - King of the Monsters (wholly ceremonial/diplomatic), owner ~~"Asgore Dreem~~  landscaping company. Poss. adoptive father of Frisk? 100+ yrs. Pers. prof.: Introverted but charismatic?, hardworking to a fault, humble (poss. low self-esteem?). Diag. depression (medicated). Fav. foods pastry, tea. Addr. 1 Garden Pkwy (pub. park grounds).



He'd heard good things about Asgore's park, but he'd have plenty of time to visit it later on; for now, Zach figured he should focus on talking things over with the queen. Looked like Papyrus-Is-Super-Cool was the next intersection: a two-lane road, sidewalks blanketed in shade by towering pine and maple trees. He hung a sharp right, not slowing down quite as much as he maybe should have.

He leaned out the window, just a little bit, and scanned the numbers on each house.  _150... 154... 158._ Zach did a quick three-point-turn and pulled up alongside the house: three floors, made of multicolored bricks (purple, dark blue, off-white, gray -- not a single red or brown one). The roof was surrounded by a gleaming railing -- looked like it was gold-plated -- and, once he stepped out into the road, he was pretty sure he could make out a grill and a telescope up there. Looked like there was a balcony on the third floor, too, overlooking the street; a flag and a couple of planters full of bright yellow flowers were attached to it.

Come to think of it, he'd seen those flowers before -- in his dream, for one thing, but throughout the neighborhood as well. They seemed to be a local trademark of sorts. For a second, Zach swore he saw one of them move, even though there wasn't any breeze to speak of. He shrugged.  _Could well be the case; place this big, can't just be the two of them living here, right?_

Anyway, he couldn't spend the whole time ogling the architecture (nor the cars in the driveway, one a slightly-used SUV and the other a brand-new, candy-apple-red sports car). He reached back into the car, snatching up the donuts and shoving his notebook back into his pocket, then slammed the door behind him. Didn't seem like the place had a doorbell, so he took hold of the ornate brass knocker on the front door -- styled like a pair of horns, it seemed -- and slammed it down twice.

A woman's muffled voice came from inside. "Oh? Who is there?"

"Agent Francis Zachary Morgan."

There was a long pause before the voice responded; evidently, the person on the other side had spent a bit of time mulling over what he'd said. "Agent Francis Zachary Morgan who?"

Panic shot through Zach's stomach -- was this even the right house? He double-checked his notes; yes, it  **definitely** was. Maybe the queen was out and hadn't informed anyone he was coming? "Uh... Agent Francis Zachary Morgan of the FBI? I'm an... uh, this  is Toriel Enruteru's house, correct?"

"Oh! My apologies, Agent Morgan!" The door opened, revealing a goat woman about a head taller than he was; she wore a cardigan, jeans that looked a bit loose on her, and an apron coated in flour. She gave a quick bow. "I am she. I must apologize. I was under the impression you were setting me up for a joke."

Zach cleared his throat. "You can just call me Zach, your highness --"

"Well, in that case, you may just call me Toriel." She stood up straight and reached out to shake his hand. "I am not particularly interested in titles, you understand."

Zach nodded, letting himself smile. He was honestly expecting the Queen to be significantly more intimidating than this, but it was quite the opposite: something about her presence (not just her lack of pretentiousness, either) made him feel immediately at ease. "Alright, Toriel. Do... people **often** come calling just to make jokes?"

Bones rapped against the thick wooden door, and a familiar voice piped up. "if they have, i've never seen 'em." Zach looked down and found himself oddly unsurprised to be facing Sans again. The skeleton wiggled his phalanges in a little wave.

"Ah!" Toriel pushed the door open a bit wider, waving the two of them in. "Zachary, I should introduce you to everyone, should I not? This is Sans, an old companion of mine."

Zach looked back at Toriel for just a moment -- "We've, uh... met before, actually." -- before turning to face Sans again. "I thought you said you were busy."

"sure i am." Sans winked. "can't you see i'm busy greeting a distinguished guest?"

"...Hm. I don't know if I'd call myself 'distinguished,' but fair enough."

Toriel chuckled. "Please, do not stand out there in the cold any longer. Come in, come in. Should we get you anything?"

"I'm good for now, thanks." As he stepped through the door, he was struck by an almost tangible  _aura_ of homeyness. It was warm like a blanket on a winter night, and the smell of... definitely cinnamon, but there was something else to it he couldn't place... wafted through the hallway. More of interest that exact moment, though, was the noise coming from his left: laser and punch sound effects over a television, and the excited shouts of... three children and an adult who seemed to be trying very hard to sound "heroic."

In an instant, Toriel was halfway to the kitchen, Sans in tow; Zach cleared his throat to get her attention, then gestured to the busy room. "Uh, may I?.."

She paused a moment, then gave him an amazingly sincere smile. "Oh, absolutely! Frisk is just having some friends over, along with Sans's brother. You will have to meet them eventually, so now is as good a time as any. We will be in the kitchen if you need anything, okay?"

He nodded and headed through the doorway, entering a packed living room -- between the seats, entertainment system, and bookcases lining the walls, there was barely room to walk -- where the ambassador was playing video games with a handful of monsters. The others had all gotten deeply into it, triumph and frustration clearly visible on their faces in turns, but the human (tangled brown hair, a bit short for their age, chubby, and wearing a distinctly _non_ -striped cardigan), who Zach recognized as Frisk mostly through process of elimination, maintained a distinctly neutral impression throughout the match; Zach's mind instantly shot to  _autism spectrum, maybe? Or, hm... could be blunted or flattened affect._ He admonished himself for being so quick to analyze a complete stranger;  _really ought to get to know them first, if nothing else._

A skeleton was the source of the "adult" voice, the heroic tone fitting his build (at least seven feet tall, and as broad as anyone Zach had ever met, certain ambiguously-hallucinatory episodes notwithstanding). Less fitting was the outfit he'd chosen, which included a hoodie labelled "#1 BROTHER #1 UNCLE #1 PAPYRUS," a pink and yellow bandana, designer jeans, and... some kind of basketball-themed shoulder pads?

To either side of him was yellow: on the left a lizard of some kind, who'd laid their controller on the ground and was clumsily mashing at it with their feet, and on the right some kind of flower-monster who, on closer inspection, looked just about identical to the flowers in the planter. ( **How** it had gotten from the planter to the terracotta pot it was now bouncing around in was anyone's guess, but there was no doubt in Zach's mind that it had been the source of the rustling. He decided to pretend that "magic" was a satisfying answer.) And, of course, at the far end of the couch, just past the plant, was Frisk.

The flower was the first to respond to his presence, swiveling over and raising a leaf in greeting before Zach could say a word. "Howdy! You must be that federal agent I heard so much about." Its face contorted and shifted, somehow, its disk twisting and rippling, innocent smile turning jagged enough to cut bread, eyes suddenly hollower than a skeleton's (and he'd seen two for comparison that day alone), all in a fraction of an instant. If any of its couchmates noticed, none of them were especially fazed by it; Frisk hastily paused the game as all their heads swiveled to face the new guest. "You ever have to kill anyone, Zach?" Above all else, Zach fixated on the flower's voice; it had started all squeaky and innocent, and now it sounded like it had been run through a voice modulator that had been thrown in a washing machine. "Ever feel that cold rush down your spine when your ears stop ringing, and you realize that you truly did just shoot a guy?"

_...Yeesh. What a charmer._

"Flowey!" Frisk frowned and gently bopped the flower's... head? Well, its  _disk,_ anyway, and just like that it was all innocent smiles and giggling again. Satisfied, they turned to face Zach once more. "Sorry, sir. Rude."

"Don't worry about it, it's... fine." He sidled up to the couch, careful not to knock anything off the cluttered coffee table, and gave a little wave. "I'm agent -"

The skeleton shot up to full height, puffing his chest out (Zach wondered how, exactly, he was capable of breathing) and saluting; Zach jumped back, and for a moment feared he was about to stumble over the table. "ZACH MORGAN, SIR! TORIEL AND MY BROTHER, SANS, TOLD ME THEY WERE EXPECTING YOU. MAY I JUST SAY THAT I'M HONORED TO MEET A HUMAN LAW ENFORCEMENT OFFICIAL OF YOUR STATURE!"

Zach laughed. "Well, thanks a lot, uh..."

"PAPYRUS, SIR!" The skeleton leaned in and gave an exaggerated glance both ways, getting a chuckle from the lizard kid and the tiniest hint of a smile from Frisk. "I DON'T LIKE TO BRAG, BUT THEY NAMED A STREET AFTER ME, YOU KNOW."

 _Can't hurt to play along._ Zach stage-whispered back, "Is that so? In that case, Papyrus, the honor is all mine. You must be a pillar of the community."

Papyrus's smile was almost big enough to rival his brother's, at that point. He slapped a gloved hand down on Zach's shoulder. "I CERTAINLY HOPE SO! NOW, WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU?"

Zach gave a little nod towards Frisk. "I actually just wanted to check in with the ambassador." He pointedly ignored the way Flowey was staring at him (eyes narrowed, brow... or whatever the equivalent was, here... furrowed). "You know about the investigation, right?"

Frisk hesitated a second, then nodded. "Yeah. People are... getting hurt."

Zach nodded, doing his best to give off an air of sympathy; it was pretty clear that the kid didn't like to think about it much. "That's right. I don't suppose you or your family know much about what happened?"

Flowey took the opportunity to butt in. "Oh, sure, they knew who the culprit was from the start but just  _didn't feel_ like sharing it, you  **idiot.** "

That, in turn, seemed to rile up the lizard, who nearly toppled off the couch swiveling around to face him. "Yo, let Frisk speak for'mselves, butthead!"

"They don't  **like** to, which you would  **know** if --"

The rest was muffled by a hand gently pressed against the flower's face. Frisk sighed, and quietly said, "It's okay, Flowey. I'll handle it." He scowled, clearly put off, but not angry enough to do anything about it; instead, he simply chose to turn away and sulk. Frisk bowed their head a little. "Sorry, sir. We don't know much."

Zach nodded. "That's alright."  _Still... I think I'll double-check with the Queen. She might be the type to hide things from her kids._ He turned away and started leaving the room (Papyrus following about three inches behind him with stars in his eye sockets), but before he left, he turned to Flowey. "Hey, I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I know how it can be, strangers poking around in your life, acting like they own the place."

Flowey barely grunted in acknowledgement, so Zach headed out towards the kitchen, leaving Frisk and their friend to figure out how to wrap up a four-player match with only two players in the room. 

The smell of spices was even stronger here, turning each and every breath into a tiny dessert all its own; in the corner, a few candles burned endlessly with magical fire, giving the room a very homey feeling. Toriel herself was busy with a sizable chunk of dough, hefty paws stretching it out and pressing it into the counter. Zach looked around, confused; even though he'd been helping her earlier, Sans was now nowhere to be seen. "What happened to, uh..."

Papyrus scoffed. "DON'T WORRY ABOUT MY BROTHER. HE'S 'AROUND' SOMEWHERE, I'M SURE. WELL, TECHNICALLY, HE'S  _'A-ROUND'_ ALL THE TIME!"

 _Oh, good, it runs in the family._ Zach laughed all the same; the enthusiasm seemingly shared by all this house's inhabitants -- well, all but one -- was infectious. "Well, alright, then. Toriel, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Go right ahead. You do not mind if I continue to roll out this dough, though, do you?"

Zach nodded, only realizing after the fact that she couldn't actually see him. "Don't worry about it. So, uh, what do you know about the...  _events_ that I'm here to investigate? Any idea why someone might be doing something like this, or who might be worth talking to?"

Toriel went silent, deep in contemplation. "Honestly, I do not. I am not inclined to assume they are interested in doing any harm to us; if they were, it would be a much simpler matter than fighting humans. Perhaps they are trying to lay down some kind of justice, perhaps they are just angry, perhaps there is something going on beneath the surface, perhaps the location is a mere coincidence..." She sighed. "As for the perpetrator themselves, I suspect... well, it does not matter in the end, really. Regardless of reasoning, regardless of who they are, their actions are causing significant problems for our community. By and large, your people have been very understanding and welcoming, but... you are aware how much damage a few people can do, if they really wish it."

He nodded. "Absolutely. Especially in a close-knit neighborhood like this, small things can have **very** large effects. But I promise you I'll do what I can to prevent things from getting too serious. I want to make sure things turn out alright for you folks." He paused for a moment to let it sink in, let her know she was on their side. Wouldn't do to give people the impression he was just here to make his superiors happy, no matter the cost. "Now, I'm assuming there's someone in the area that's been investigating this? I'd like to talk to them and see what they've found out."

The queen stiffened up. "That would be the Royal Guard. I had preferred to dissolve them, actually, but... we came to the conclusion that it would be best if our town had a dedicated force to handle intracommunity issues."

 _You mean you can't trust human police to handle things,_ Zach said to himself. It wasn't unreasonable, really; even if there wasn't a dirty cop in the state, even if not **one** of them was too lenient towards human-on-monster crime and too harsh when it came towards monster-on-human incidents, it was all too easy to use excessive force without thinking about it, even against a human; based on his briefing, which had touched on monster biology, he could reasonably assume that that problem would be even worse when it came to their magical bodies.

Unlike  **certain** people he could name, though, he was sensible enough to keep this to himself. Outwardly, he just nodded. "I see. Who should I speak to about that, then?"

Papyrus slid into the space between the two of them, his spine straighter than straight and his hands against his hips. "AS COMMUNITY OUTREACH DIRECTOR AND HONORARY DETECTIVE, I WILL BE GLAD TO BRING YOU TO THE GUARD CAPTAIN!" He leaned in conspiratorially. "HOWEVER... BE WARNED. SHE CAN BE A BIT... SUPLEX-Y."

"I see. I... think I can handle it." _I mean, I've had **worse** from local law enforcement, _ Zach mused.  _Including, what... at **least** twice while on duty, at this point. _ "Lead the way, Papyrus."

"Oh, Zachary!" The two had taken about one and a half steps before Toriel reached out to stop them. "Before you leave... have you found a place to stay yet?"

Zach rubbed the back of his neck. "Not exactly. I was planning to take care of that after I got in touch with everyone."

"not the best planning, pal." How long had Sans been in the kitchen? Long enough, apparently. He was clutching a large bowl and slowly stirring the contents -- the filling, Zach figured. "this place gets  **real** popular this time of year. even if you can find a room that wasn't booked a month in advance, they'll gouge you. and i imagine you're gonna have enough of that on your plate as is."

"Sans, please!" Toriel tried to sound indignant, but mostly failed, and even with a paw over her mouth it was pretty clear she hadn't managed to suppress a smile. "I'm sorry, Zachary. He sometimes doesn't treat things with the  _proper gravity._ "

Zach didn't really get that one, but Sans seemed to think it was pretty funny; Papyrus had left the room in a huff, grumbling about getting the car ready. "hey, what can i say? i don't have a serious bone in my body. i'm  _two funny_ by nature."

"Uh, listen," Zach interjected. He gestured behind himself. "I appreciate some... good-natured ribbing?.. but I really shouldn't keep your brother waiting."

"Ah, yes!" Toriel nodded. "I just wanted to say that you should feel free to stay here for the duration of your investigation. We have a guest room, but it so often goes unused."

"That'd be great, actually. Thanks very much." Zach shook Toriel's hand, pointedly refused to shake Sans's (instead opting for a little wave), and headed out.

He paused on the front doorstep, watching as Papyrus slowly pulled out of the driveway. Almost without thinking, Zach's hand went to his ear, and his lips curled into a smile.

"Well, York... all things considered, I think we've dealt with stranger. Of course, we'll have to see how things shape up once we meet this mysterious captain..."

The only response was silence.


End file.
